Day Before Dawn
by George Lucas Official
Summary: Sherlock and Watson begin their most treacherous case yet...each other! The game is afoot!


Day Before Dawn

"Are you sure that's what happened?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure? There are no...inconsistencies with your memory?"

Silence. Then-

"I'm sure."

Longer silence.

"Very well. My partner here will escort you back to the helicopter pad where you will be designated for take off. Have a good day, Mr-"

"No need to say the name, Corporal. Everyone here already knows me."

The slender man lifted himself up gracefully from the straight-back iron chair of which he had just been sitting. The detective shrouded in darkness opposite him gave him a silent nod and gestured the former out the door. Just before turning the handle, the man glanced backwards to see the detective still aimlessly pouring over the notes he had just taken.

 _Fools,_ thought the man with a vicious smile. He had nothing to worry about. After all, he owned this city. The whole lot of it. All of it was his.

 _And it always will be_ , thought the man with an even prouder smile.

In the darkness of the hallway, the future loomed over him like a dog looms over a tasty new bone; always watchful and unexpected. But he knew how to deal with such tasks. And he knew what he must do.

Slowly, he exited the police department in a fateful glance.

Back in the newly cleared interrogation chamber, special Agent Calico Nutjar sat with a grim expression on his stubbled face. Again and again he poured himself over the freshly printed documents. However, no conclusion could be made about this strange case. He twiddled his thumbs and sighed softly. Never again would he take a case such as this. Two murders in less than a second? By different murder weapons? Impossible. Not to mention the copious amounts of cum discovered at the crime scene.

Nutjar stood up to his full 3 foot 6 inches in height and strode proudly out the room in a buoyant fashion, ready to catch that cocksucker for what he did. If the stories were true, then there was no doubt that the one and only Genevieve Gnarl had committed the atrocities. They had him within their very grasp, right there in the interrogation chambers. But they needed evidence. So much evidence.

The thought of digging up dirt on Gnarl had become such as obsession with Nutjar that he often masturbated to the thought of locking up that piece of scum once and for all. For stress relieving purposes, of course.

Now, as Nutjar made his way home, the thought of catching this piece of filth didn't seem so far-fetched after all. Maybe...just maybe…

If he could convince some of Gnarl's so called "friends" to help him out a bit, give just enough evidence to incriminate the fucker...Nutjar may just fulfill his life's dream and be able to commit suicide in peace.

But until then...he had work to do.

He stept swiftly into his one room apartment on Queen street in Chatham, Ontario. Looking around confusedly, he mistook a case of beer for his mother and swung a misguided punch in its general direction. He greatly missed and struck his porcelain sink instead, which burst and shattered among the room. He cried out in pain, blood flowing from his quickly shrinking hand. There was no time. It had to be done.

Practising a talent he had inherited from high school, Nutjar instantly inserted his entire pulsating fist into his mouth. When his teeth had reached the greater part of his wrist, he closed his eyes and bit down with the force of a thousand chipmunks.

Pain ached through his arm like a chronic disease, but there was no helping it; the hand simply had to go.

Further and further he grinded his teeth until-yes! He had hit bone! His eyes widened with excitement as he was so close to reaching his goal. He penis throbbed at the excitement of actually achieving something in life.

Harder and harder he grinded until at last, his hand hung from but a mere few tendons, swinging wistfully on his bleeding stump of what used to be the most useful hand in all of Africa.

He gave a final glance at his hand before taking the plunge.

As soon as his hand hit the floor, months upon months of time extended themselves from his bloody stump. He stepped through a golden archway and into an abyss where he was found to be ruler of all the land.

"And the first step of securing a country, is securing the women!" Nutjar spoke in an excited whisper to his second in command Haltz. Haltz smiled accordingly and flaunted his man-tits in response to his new lord.

"Follow me!" commanded Nutjar to his kingdom. Birds, mammals, and dirt of every shape and size got up at once and began to march behind their feather bearing. Nutjar was so happy he forgot to check his taxes. He gasped, and all too soon, Jamie Clarke woke up in a sweat, the LSD finally wearing off from his pathetic ass.

"Goddamnit!" rang out Jamie through his pitiful household. Ever since Wendy had kicked him out for misleading the kids, Jamie had no purpose in life. Until…

"Oh wait I'm Harry Potter!" Jamie said with a pop as he shrank nearly 4 metres in size.

"Hippogryphs! They're horny, humble, and damn near horny!" Announced Rubeus Hagrid to his care of magical creatures class. Nearly everyone laughed except.

"It's time, I want you all to gather around and present your asses to me like the good little bitches you are!" Requested Hagrid with a doleful smile on his putrid face. Hagrid didn't know what it was like to look like a man anymore. All humanity had escaped him during the fall of the great siege of the empire during the collapse of the wall of Bethlehem's greatest empire gone rogue.

"And that's a good way to remember it yeh mugwumps." Hagrid finally dismissed his class to the castle and milked his great white titties until the lake overflew.

Several years later the time had finally arrived for Nutjars plan to be executed. He slowly rose from his bed, tugged on his little white beard, and crashed into the sea. He forgot to mention to his wife of nearly 90 years that he lived right above the sea. What sea you may ask?

The sea of Africa, of course.

The only problem with the sea of Africa was that it did not allow for much creativity. And since Nutjar was one of the most creative spirits in town, exceeding The good lord himself, Nutjar decided to change his tack.

"Apple jeans Apple jeans, save me please!" Nutjar was actually pleading to the sky, anxious for some fucking help.

With a flow of motion and degenerated disease, Nutjar felt years of knowledge flowing back into his hand. His hand was regrowing! Just like he had imagined it.

"Yes!" Nutjar yelled.

The slender man walked slowly down a narrow cobbled street, still emulated in his success over the fool Nutjar and his pathetic police crew. He couldn't believe how well he had done. When he got home, he decided he would treat himself to a little jerk off.

He arrived at his modest apartment and slowly creeped inside, using the shadows as cover. Wouldn't want any unexpected police cameras to see him in the nude.


End file.
